Another World of Grey
by TotallyMarriedHer
Summary: 'Every time it is the same, a broken neck and a cherub, stone angel with covered eyes watching over the body.' When Detective River Song's evening undercover at an art gallery is disrupted by an incognito man in tweed, it looks to be a waste of an evening but not as much as the man's with his neck snapped, splayed out in some sort of ritual ceremony she soon discovers. AU.
1. Chapter 1

_**Another World of Grey** _

'_Every time it is the same, a broken neck and a cherub angel with covered eyes watching over the body.' _When Detective River Song's evening undercover at an art gallery is disrupted by an incognito man in tweed, it looks like a waste of an evening but not as much as the man's with his neck snapped, splayed out in some sort of ritual ceremony. AU. T for murder, later violence and swearing.

**_Flesh and Stone - Chapter One_**

In truth she cares little for this type of affair. It's a gathering of the city's élite: business men, investors, art critics and really any rich man with a penchant for over-priced contemporary art or glitzy events with a lot of women and media coverage. She's only here at some new and upcoming exhibition at some art gallery because it's her job. She's only in ridiculously high scarlet heels and a long, glamorous yet formal black dress because it's for her job – hardly suitable or preferred dress for a detective at work but mandatory for a detective undercover.

Spending the evening like most of the other attendees at the event, she busies herself with observing the work exhibited; avoiding and making idle chat when there is no other way of getting out of it;, taking something from the platters of tiny and delicate pieces of food offered on silver trays by waiters out of politeness when they subtly refuse to pass her after she declines and taking the offered glass of wine in a much quicker, less-reserved fashion.

_Pity she hasn't taken a sip from it since it was in her hand. _She must be alert and aware. Or there is no point to her involvement in this operation. River observes everything and everyone at the gallery. Her eyes have always been sharp. She catches the great business investor Victor Lee, King of the Tabloids; sneak off with a woman who is definitely not his wife or even his mistress. She spots his wife in a very close discussion with a renowned solicitor, Matthew Bates, probably talking family or corporate law, and rinsing a lot of money from their opposition. When the soon-to-be-divorced wife to Victor Lee leaves to look at the exhibition on the upper floor, her attention focuses on a James Octavian, the overseer of this event, trying to stay calm among the guests even though his temper falls upon an unlucky 20-something waiter.

_My, my, she thinks, what's got him stirred up?_

Over in the corner of the room Octavian rips into the waiter, shouting, gesticulating angrily. The boy scampers off after a few minutes - when Octavian gets a call on his phone and dismisses the boy - to right whatever wrong he did. Then all the guest silence at a booming voice _with apology the speech is to be postponed for half an hour._

At that point a man in an unorthodox tweed suit and bow tie sees an opportunity to approach her. In all honesty, she'd caught him sneaking a look over at her and had waited for the moment she would have to endure his small talk and acquaintance like she had already had with many this evening. River remembers studying him like all the others here, his obvious disinterest in nearly every artwork he stalked past, when he and a girl with auburn hair stopped to study an artwork that many had brushed past. A worn, bronze box inscribed with foreign numerals and markings and if her memory served her correctly again, with the word 'home' in the title.

His auburn-haired companion is nowhere to be seen and he first feigns an interest in an inky black canvas scattered with gold glitter termed loosely as art displayed beside her. When he is a metre away from her, River turns to him. "Miss Malone," she offers out her hand. When he does not take it she immediately takes a dislike to him. He was the one who approached her, the _least_ he could was go along with the civil charade of meet and greet at this event.

Curtly, he offers back his name as 'The Doctor.' Consequently, she doesn't bother to ask what he is a doctor of when he so blatantly doesn't bother to include a first or last name with it. When silence fills the space between them as a result she takes the opportunity to study him more closely. Dark hair, unreadable eyes, a rather prominent chin. He takes the chance to study _her._ A mass of untamed blonde curls, eyes the colour of an untamed ocean and red lipstick. While he does many things one would normally say at this point like commenting on the exhibition or asking if the other has an interest in art unhelpfully leave his head.

When she nods her head to a place over his shoulder she cuts any future conversation short, states "your friend is looking for you," at the sight of the auburn-haired woman looking around for her companion. The Doctor looks across his shoulder to see Amy Pond searching for him. When he turns back to Miss Malone, she is already sliding past him, walking away with the item she just pick pocketed from him held close to her stomach so he can't see it. The Doctor eyes follow her back until she leaves the room.

After River journeys through the art gallery until she finds an unlit cordoned off area not part of tonight's show, sneaks into it to take her phone from her clutch. They agreed for her to call around this time, first her boss, then her colleague Jack Harkness whom she'd split up with an hour ago who was now undercover on the upper floors of the gallery. They search out the darkened sculpture; make out the outlines of the paintings. That's when she sees the figure in the distance skirting away into the darkness, curiosity pricks her skin. She mutters goodbye into the phone, a quick explanation for it and hangs up on Jack.

For the first time this night, a smile upturns the edges of her lips at something_ fun_ to do. For the next five minutes she expertly follows the figure until the noise of someone's footsteps rattles down a corridor. The figure turns round at the noise. Spots her. He runs. She breaks into a sprint after him, eager to know who he is, why he doesn't want anyone following him. Caught up with the adrenaline coursing through her blood at the sight of the figure tuning a corner to his left instead of carrying on down the corridor stretching out in front of him and cursing at the effort to run in heels, she doesn't notice 'til it's too late. She doesn't notice until she meets the owner of the rattling footsteps where the corridors form a junction just before she turns left. They both crash into each other from opposite directions.

In a blur of blonde curls, black fabric and tweed they tumble-down. But the impact of her fall is softer with the fact that her body lands directly on another's. In an instant she finds herself lying on top of the man who introduced himself earlier as The Doctor, finds him looking up at her with a blush and a smile. Her perfectly manicured and painted scarlet hands are either side of his head from the reflex to soften her fall and she knows getting up and taking any of her remaining dignity with her will be impossible.

However she doesn't have the time to spare to flush at the situation and mutter apologies sharing awkward eye contact instead she jumps back up, eyes darting to the left where the man she'd been tailing had disappeared off in. Three words rush from her mouth.

"Follow that man."

_**A/N:**_ I have an addiction to River/ Doctor AU's. And one night many a plot unravelled in my head for this AU. I have plans for the Pandorica and the Silence, let's just say. I will post the full summary in the next chapter for the first murder case. I hope you enjoyed reading the first chapter. As always, reviews are cherished.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Another World of Grey** _

Full summary: (feel free to skip to chapter and scroll down) _'Every time it is the same, a broken neck and a cherub angel with covered eyes watching over the body.' _When Detective River Song's evening undercover at an art gallery is disrupted by an incognito man in tweed, it looks to be a waste of an evening but not as much as the man's with his neck snapped, splayed out in some sort of ritual ceremony. When the man in Tweed introduces himself as an enigmatic 'Doctor' and her new partner, they find themselves on the hint for a confident serial killer with the help of journalist Amy Pond and forensic pathologist Rory Williams.

_**Another World of Grey** **- Chapter Two**_

In truth he really should have backtracked once he saw the figure and returned to Amy. Left it at that. Then he wouldn't have crashed quite spectacularly and fell in a heap on the floor after. But he got caught in the_ thrill of the chase_. And besides, _that woman_ had crashed into him. He'd managed to slow down at least, he'd managed to see that another person was in front of him and things were going to end badly.

_It was she had on top of him. _

So why is he apologising profusely like a stuttering, blushing schoolboy? She's caught up in her own worries, not uttering one apology or _are you okay?_ Glad to feel the balance of his two feet resting firmly on solid ground after standing up, he lets her rush off down one of the empty corridors of the gallery without him. He won't _follow that man_ on her command.

Then he remembers why he's annoyed with her in the first place. And rushes down the corridor. Before his annoyance can spill into words, before he's not very far down the corridor his mind and limbs have to work overtime in trying not to repeat what just happened a couple of minute ago. She has stopped running, and with heels in hand she stands frowning. He slows down from his sprint just in time to stand beside her – not crash in to her again.

He hears her say, "It's no use; I think we've lost him." The blame for him in her voice crawls under his skin and the irritation bursts out in an angry huff, "I want my I.D. back."

"I'm sorry?" It unnerves him how much innocence there there is in her protest. Further irritates him. The smirk after her protest is the same one as when she proclaimed a breathless "John," earlier and all he could do was look back up at the woman who'd literally fell over him and answer "River."

"Theft is a criminal offence," he reminded her.

River gave a blasé shrug, "and it is simply rude to accuse someone of it without proper evidence first, sweetie."

"_River!"_

By now she is making her way down the corridor, not with as much speed or urgency as before but still with a curiosity. "Apparently you know who I am; I wanted to know who you were. Problem, _John_?" She calls back to him. By the end of her sentence all the nonchalance in it is gone. His real name is enough proof of her theft. The way she says it is enough proof she doesn't care about that fact.

"Yes, actually." John falls into step beside her and they walk down the corridor. What sort of detective pickpockets someone casually because they want to know more about them? And what sort of detective lets another do that without realising? John asks himself and then exclaims "I don't like being pick-pocketed much and neither does the law."

"What are you going to do? Arrest me detective inspector John Smith?"

He has a horrible, nagging feeling at that moment that his I.D. has already returned to his jacket pocket. The smile on her face is too confident for it not to have been. He bites back a curse, feeling in his jacket pocket. His hand touches tell-tale plastic that he swears wasn't there after he left the delightful acquaintance of a Miss Malone earlier that evening.

Nevertheless he lets the fuss drop. He focuses on doing something more productive than arguing with a woman who he thinks might just like's to be one step of everyone. Anyway, what were Amy Pond's words? That he might as well do some cop work if he was here? That he had promised her a story. True he had promised her some sort of story in exchange for her agreeing to go with him for the evening. He thought a glitzy and build-up event at a gallery would give a story, with all the exhibitions and people and gossip for a journalist to write about.

Like him Amy had a motive to being here.

"So why were you chasing him?" He asks River trying to strike conversation as they continue through the gallery again attempt to catch a sight of the figure again.

"Why were you?"

"I know people don't usually go gallivanting down an empty corridor normally, after all that person . . . whoever they are could be perfectly innocent but-"

"No one's perfectly innocent."

"And that's why you went after him?" The doctor asks. River nods. After the fire that was their meeting before has seemed to die down, he takes the chance ask the real, underlying reason he wanted to know why she had the same idea as him. River beats it him to it.

"So, John Smith, did the D.C.I assign you to this case, this evening?"

"Um . . . yes," he leaves his response at that. He already thought that River hadn't known about his new involvement but the tone of her voice confirmed it. And he was right; she'd only known there would be a new person on the murder tea due on an unspecified date around this time of the month. Not that she would practically bump into him on what was originally her and Jack's assignment. And she had a load of things to say about that, a lot of things to talk to her D.C.I. about it later. Once they reach the lit up part of the gallery, the centre of the evening again she wants to go on her way so those very strong words won't jump out her mouth. John's companion spots him and rushes out to him, her footsteps slowing down as she realises he's with company with a light frown on her face.

John remains silent as Amy's inquisitive eyes sharpen on his; she crosses her arms, "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"Amy." He gestures, seeing no other option than t do as she asked, "River."

The two women both offer up a polite smile to each other. Fortunately, the awkward silence that could follow these sorts of acquaintances gets saved by the ring of a mobile phone. River excuses herself to take the call. While she does Amy pulls John over to the side. "You've missed it all," she says, "they cancelled the speech. The talker went A.W.O.L, there's been sort of mix up with the food and there was this great big argument between this Octavian guy and one of the staff at the gallery."By the time Amy has relayed he evening's events, there is not time for him to ask questions, names, details that are missing as River interrupts him. Her phone call was short. From Jack. And it got her attention as much as it does John's in a minute. "There's been a murder."

They are already making their way through the crowds before River tells John where to go. Amy follows them with interest. They end up on the other side of the gallery, far away from the crowds. A back door to the gallery is open, one leading out to stone steps. At the bottom of those steps is Jack, Octavian and a couple of others River can't yet a name to.

They all surround a man sprawled out, neck snapped with a cherub angel placed above his head, eyes palmed against its stone eyes whilst the dead man's are open, staring up at a starless sky and a white smirk of a blurry moon that he will never see again. River turns to John, who has stopped at the top of the stairs, studying down at the scene before him.

"_Doctor, _what do you know of the weeping angels?

A/N: I hope the differing names aren't confusing. From this point on River will be River and The Doctor John. I know the murder just happened _to be_ while there were at the gallery but there are reasons for that I will explain in later chapters. Reviews make me smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Another World of Grey - Chapter Three_**

Who's _called _River Song? _Really? _

That was the question spiralling through his head when more important, more relevant questions needed to be buzzing there too. Questions about murder. Questions about angels.

Yet, the night passes on. And the mechanics of a murder scene too. The event at the gallery is disrupted in a spectacular fashion of gossip and gasps. Journalists here for the event get more than they bargained for and some try to scavenge a story or picture. Amy isn't one of them; she leaves soon after they find the body and goes elsewhere to catch a few interviews. She can get the meat of the story later. Besides, after a while the police start their own and she finishes up.

John has the question running through his head the entire time, as information on motive and marks that say the victim struggled and complaints by pompous celebrities about an evening wasted annoy him when they're questioned about the wasted life of a young waiter named Nathaniel Reeves.

It's petty and childish but consuming.

All the information and observation's stored in his head by second nature however nothing breaks through to him until: "Are you finished here? Is River Song your partner?"

He sighs. "Yes . . . I need to be at the station in the morning but the night's done."

Amy persists. "She's your new partner isn't she?"

The second time the sigh and answer is a lot more begrudged. "Yes. Anything interesting happened your end?"

"I'll tell you in a minute. I believe you driving me home as well as a night out in the week were part of the deal for me coming to the gallery," she reminds him in a light-hearted tone. Amy had to drop a night out with her on/off boyfriend after all.

"I believe it was, Pond." There is nothing more he'd like himself than to go home, and to drag his tired body with him. They leave the gallery shortly after, making their way to a street where he'd parked the car. He smiles at the sight of his deep electric blue car, frowns at the piece of paper tucked in the windscreen. Admittedly, he did have a tendency to park anywhere he fancied, especially when there was more urgent business like death to attend to.

He rips the ticket off the windscreen, slumps down in the car. And wonders again what sort of woman has such a peculiar name.

"Okay so the victim is one Nathaniel Reeves, aged twenty-three. Publicly sighted at 7: 45 with a James Octavian, last sighted at 8:00 in a worried state by one of the other young waiters at the event. But that was probably because his boss gave him a go at earlier the evening. . .

"We've still got to finish off the interviews from last night, see if there of any witnesses and pull in his family. . . "

Donna Noble's words fall on to an attentive, silent murder team listening to the details of Reeve's last night on earth from there DCI stood at the front of the room.

They spend the best part of a day continuing with the interviews from last night, pulling people into the station of interest that they didn't get to speak to the night before and trying to track down any immediate family of Nathaniel Reeves. River mostly interviews with Jack, something's she gotten used to over the years, and for the most part he plays good cop and she bad with criminals. Whilst John goes in with another member of the murder team.

It is afternoon when they have the chance to properly talk again, when he comes out the interview room after questioning businessman Victor Lee. His arrogance and uncaring for last night frustrates John who has gotten little but complaints out of him, nothing useful anyhow. A waste of both their time, it seems. He stalks back to his desk. River looks up from the computer at hers she is typing at across the room to see him huff and sit down.

He stretches out his arms. "So why the gallery?" He asks shortly, simply. She knows he was going to ask soon. She turns away from her computer screen, to him.

"Did Donna not tell you yesterday?"

"Briefly."

"Well, 7 years ago there was a case where the murderer, dubbed the archangel, would leave a stone angel near the murder scene, sometimes near the victim, sometimes in the shadows, further away from the body but there was always one to be found. Always one with its eyes covered. They were never caught. Thing is the angels he used were stolen from a local gallery, not an exhibition but outside the actual building. Then a few weeks ago some cherub angels were stolen from last night's gallery. One of them at out murder scene. They haven't caught the thief yet," River informs him.

"That's why we went."

"That and other things."

"How many angels were taken?" He wonders how many murders there will be if one is placed at each scene.

"Last time: four."_Four deaths. Four victims that never got their killer in prison – never got justice._

"And this time?"

"Too many."She stands from her desk and places a ceramic cup on his desk already cluttered with paperwork.

"What's this?" Accusingly, he looks down at the steaming cup placed in front of him. Taken aback, she answers. "Coffee. Just Coffee." She adds with a small smirk playing on her lips, "Don't worry I haven't put anything in it. If I wanted to kill you I'd do in a much more inventive way."

"Oh . . . right." He hands reaches out for the offending mug of coffee but his fingers don't curl round the handle to pick it up. He sort of just stares the coffee down. "You don't like the stuff, do you?"

"Tea just has a special place in my heart," he admits. She gives a scrap of a laugh. It is clear the coffee will go cold, abandoned. So she finishes her own coffee off to put the empty cup on his desk and clears her throat.

"Anyway, get your coat. We've got an appointment with a Mister. Thomas Aplan. Maker of our angels."

_**A/N:** _I love AU's; they give you an excuse to re-watch episodes for 'research' of what canon references to include in each chapter. Sorry this chapter was short I haven't been very well all week and am drowning in revision. Reviews are the best.


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